As soon as they reached the borders of the Rodh capital, Eomer and Visil parted ways.
They could not be seen together. They need to keep their connection hidden.
Eomer returned to his chambers in the palace. The moment he stepped inside, his expression darkened.
The room had been completely ransacked.
Cupboards emptied. Furniture damaged. Nothing was left untouched.
Whoever had done this clearly believed the young, useless heir had finally been eliminated. They had looted everything, expecting to find valuables—but there was nothing.
Little did they know, anything of worth had long been hidden away in the forest, with Miriam and Ayumu.
No matter, Visil thought.
I'll just head to the succession class.
The moment he stepped into the classroom, all eyes turned to him.
His brothers—most of whom barely paid attention during lessons—stared in disbelief.
He was walking… as if nothing had happened.
They had been certain the second prince had succeeded in killing him. He had even reassured them himself. None of them had bothered to mourn someone as insignificant as Visil.
And yet—here he was. Alive and unharmed.
Visil ignored their stares and took his seat quietly, paying them no mind.
Even the tutor looked shaken, clearly unsure of what was happening.
But Visil's thoughts were elsewhere.
Back to that morning. To the words Eomer had said to him as they rode together at full speed.
"There's something else I need you to know, Visil."
The wind had been loud, the horse fast—but Visil had heard him.
"I know you are destined for greatness. You can bring change to Epsos. I can see the power within you."
Eomer had smiled.
"As your father… I believe in you, my son."
Those words stayed with him.
They burned quietly within his chest.
To repay the kindness of that magis family, he would work harder.
Study harder.
Train harder.
Become stronger.
His foolish brothers were nothing.
Visil's gaze sharpened. He is determined he would rise above them all.
He would become—the next Emperor of Epsos.
----------------------
During the council meeting, nobles from both magis and non-magis factions gathered.
At the center, Lord Eomer stood among them, calmly discussing the escalating war—one sparked by the capture of three white magis.
At the far end of the hall stood the dark magis.
Among them was their leader—
Vicar Wrath.
Son of Kurton Wrath.
His crimson eyes burned coldly, carrying the will of his father—who had died in the recent war, struck down by a single stray orichalcum arrow.
A pathetic death. One unworthy of a dark magis.
That war that had begun for one reason alone—to reclaim the captured white magis.
Vicar hated the white magis. To him, everything traced back to them.
Because of the white magis, the dark magis had been reduced to servants of Epsos—when they could have fought and won their own wars.
Because of the white magis, the great warrior Rokhan had fallen… to something as foolish as love.
Because of the white magis, his father had died in an unworthy way because of a war where white magis was the prize.
And now—another war loomed.
Because of them.
White magis.
White magis.
White magis.
He loathed them!
"There is a rumour that says you came from outside the capital this morning, Lord Eomer," Vicar spoke, his tone playful but sharp. "I wonder what business you had… wandering about in such dangerous times."
His lips curled slightly.
"Or perhaps… you're acting as a spy for the enemy?"
A murmur spread across the room.
A non-magis noble stepped forward—Lord Elbus of the knightly order.
"Careful, Lord Vicar," he warned. "Those are dangerous words."
"Dangerous?" Vicar scoffed. "It's merely a question. Don't you all find it… odd? Our royal advisor, who is also a white magis—leaving the capital during a war that concerns white magis specifically?"
The murmurs grew louder.
Doubt flickered in the room. They didn't want to believe it—but they couldn't dismiss it completely either.
Eomer, who had been silent all this while, simply smiled.
Beside him, two white magis, survivors of the recent ambush spoke up.
"Lord Eomer has no time to serve as anyone's spy. He moves freely as he pleases, and his intentions have always been for the people. Free him of your false accusations, Lord Vicar."
Vicar showed his annoyance to the white magis who dares to mock him.
Then, a lady magis with striking purple hair added with a sly smile,
"It is also rumoured that Lord Vicar frequently leaves the capital himself… bedding women here and there. Do be careful, my lord—wouldn't want you fathering more children than the Emperor."
Laughter erupted across the chamber.
Vicar's expression darkened instantly.
"Watch your tongue, you pathetic little—"
"Announcing the entrance of the Emperor!" The guards' voices cut through the tension.
Everything fell silent.
Vicar clicked his tongue and stepped back.
The Emperor entered.
Old, weary and nearly seventy.
His time was running out—and everyone in the room knew it.
Eomer, as royal advisor, lowered a short veil over his face. It was tradition—to veil oneself before the Emperor. A custom that dated back to his predecessors and to honour the late white magis, Theana.
"Your Majesty," Eomer began calmly, "we have identified the perpetrators behind the abduction of the white magis. They are from the Orman Empire. Their army rivals ours in number. Though they lack the strength of magis and knights, we must not underestimate them—"
"They… they took Theana…"
The Emperor's voice trembled.
"I will not allow it! Theana is mine!"
A chill swept through the room. The Emperor had lost his mind.
Theana was long dead—died because of his own cruelty.
And yet, he clung to her memory, seeing her in every white magis before him.
"I don't care what it takes!" the Emperor roared. "No matter the cost—bring Theana back! She belongs to me!"
Eomer stood still. Outwardly calm.
But inside—rage churned violently.
For the past year, it had been like this.
To hear the name of his late aunt spoken by the very man who had abused her… tortured her… and led her to her death—it was unbearable.
"Then I will discuss further measures to—"
Before he could finish—
The Emperor suddenly grabbed Eomer by the collar and pulled him close.
"Theana… show me your smile once more… I want to see it…your smile that you once shown me...how I miss it...Theana"
Something in Eomer snapped.
"Guards," he said coldly, his voice tight. "Escort His Majesty to his chambers."
The guards moved quickly.
The Emperor did not resist—but as he was led away, his voice echoed through the halls—
"Theana… Theana…"
Silence fell once more.
Eomer stood there, unmoving.
Then slowly—he removed his veil.
Golden eyes gleamed beneath—now burning with fury.
No one spoke. Not even Vicar.
For the first time—even he knew better than to provoke Eomer.
Lord Elbus was the first to break the silence.
"We can't just rush into another war like this… our people have suffered enough."
Lady Illy of the Charoite tribe stepped forward, her voice sharp with anger.
"Easy for you to say! White magis are being held captive by the enemy. Have you no heart?!"
Voices rose across the hall.
Vicar and several nobles joined in, arguments clashing from every side until the chamber descended into chaos.
Eomer spoke—"Silence."
His voice was not loud. But just like that, the hall fell completely still.
"When the Emperor summoned the white magis to Epsos, five of them came," Eomer began calmly. "and only three remain in Graitan."
His gaze swept across the room.
"The three left behind are the last of our kind in Graitan. The keepers of our knowledge… our culture… our legacy. As ordered by the late Chancellor, Theana."
He stepped down from the platform, each footstep echoing softly.
"They are elderly. Their time is already limited. As for the five who left for Rodh…"
He paused.
"They were given instructions by me before their departure."
Eomer gestured slightly.
The two surviving white magis stepped forward.
Without a word, they opened their mouths and reached toward the roof, pulling out small retainers hidden within.
A ripple of confusion spread through the nobles.
"What is that…?"
Vicar's eyes narrowed.
"…Iocane," he said coldly.
A collective gasp followed.
Lady Illy's face turned pale.
"Iocane…? That's a deadly poison… Then that means—"
"You white magis are insane!" Vicar spat.
One of the white magis lifted his chin.
"Watch your tongue, Lord Vicar." His voice was steady.
"We may not die in ways worthy of your dark magis legends… but we understand sacrifice. If our lives can save many, we will not hesitate to give them."
Silence returned. Heavier this time.
All eyes turned to Eomer—
Who stood there, expression solemn.
Lady Illy spoke again, her voice trembling.
"…Are they… dead?"
Eomer shook his head.
"We do not know," the other white magis answered on behalf. "Lord Eomer instructed us to carry the powdered poison only for emergencies. We may endure torture… but if our lives are to be used as bargaining tools for war—"
His gaze hardened.
"We will end them ourselves by ingesting the poison."
Gasps echoed through the hall.
Eomer turned to Lord Elbus.
"It pains me to say this… but I hold little hope for their survival."
He paused briefly.
"We may yet avoid war, Lord Elbus. But the Emperor must not know this."
His tone lowered.
"Prepare your army. Quietly... just in case." He looked down. "Just for show..."
Lord Elbus stiffened.
This… was the best possible outcome.
And yet—it came at the cost of three lives willingly placed on the line.
"…Understood, Lord Eomer," he said, clenching his jaw.
Vicar scoffed.
"Pathetic."
He turned sharply, his cloak flaring behind him.
"I won't stand here and listen to this nonsense."
With that—he strode out of the hall, fury evident in every step.